


An Arrow in the Deep

by AldreaAlien



Series: Maxwell Trevelyan [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-24
Updated: 2015-05-24
Packaged: 2018-04-01 02:13:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4001971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AldreaAlien/pseuds/AldreaAlien
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maxwell Trevelyan takes a little trip below ground and comes across someone he didn't quite expect to find wandering this particular section of the Deep Roads...</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Arrow in the Deep

**Author's Note:**

> I thought I'd tackle the prompt of "the Inquisitor's first meeting with the Warden or Hawke" with my canon Inquisitor, instead of Din.
> 
> If anyone's interested...  
> My Inquisitor looks like [this](http://aldreaalien.tumblr.com/post/104989419501/my-second-inquisitor-maxwell-trevelyan-hes-a) and my Warden (done by the lovely Slugette) looks like [this](http://slugette.tumblr.com/post/119265020535/daylen-amell-for-giveaway-winner-aldreaalien-i).

They were underground and it was dark, gloomy at best, their path haphazardly lit by torches and the occasional conjured flame of Dorian's. That made this place bad enough for Maxwell. The mark, with its ever-present glow, had made bearing such fears a little easier. Yet, this oppressing darkness prickled the back of his neck, the crushing weight of the rock above always at the forefront of his mind.

Now, they'd come to what appeared to be a great chasm, their way forward little more than a bridge over nothing. Nevertheless, he couldn't resist peering over the edge, his chest tightening at the sight. The great gaping hole seemed to go on forever. But they'd already travelled far beneath the earth, there _must_ be an end.

Maxwell absently nocked an arrow and fired into the darkness. The arrow fell swiftly. He cocked his head, waiting for some sign that the tip had hit something. Nothing. This place was a veritable tomb. _Hopefully not ours_.

A hand hooked into the crook of his arm. Soft, familiar and, above all, reassuring. He turned from the dark pull of the hole to watch Dorian peer over the edge.

"That… that must go down a _long_ way." His gaze flicked to Maxwell. "How are you holding up?" he asked, his voice pitched low enough not to be overheard by their companions.

He absently checked the tension of his bowstring. "I'm fine." His fingers, unable to remain still, moved on to fiddle with an arrow, twirling it this way and that.

Dorian's expression took on a perfect example of disbelief.

Maxwell sighed. Foolish to try lying to the man who knew better than most on how he felt about their current situation. "I can manage." He took some solace in that he didn't trek these tunnels alone. Beyond Dorian's ever-comforting presence, Blackwall and Varric walked ahead of them, both with weapons at the ready. "I'd feel better if we were leaving, though. You?"

"Likewise." Dorian gave his arm a slight tug. "We should probably catch up with the others."

This far down, he had expected darkspawn. They _had_ stumbled upon a great number of them. Or rather, their remains. Recently slain, judging by the blood. Some had been taken out by arrows whilst others clearly met their end to a blade. Varric first believed they might be near a Legion of the Dead, until they came across sights that no dwarf could attempt. Piles of bones, the flesh stripped and gone but their armour still intact.

Maxwell didn't want to think on what could do such a thing, let alone why, and he certainly had no desire to meet the one responsible. Yet, the further they pressed, the greater their chance of doing just that.

They reached the far end of the bridge where the other two men waited. Here, the tunnel curved down into more darkness. The clash of metal echoed from somewhere below. Close and frantic.

"Someone's down there," Blackwall muttered, repositioning his shield. "We should help."

Nodding for the warrior to take the lead, Maxwell nocked the arrow he'd been mindlessly twirling and followed. Whoever was down there was likely fighting darkspawn. They'd want help.

They raced along the tunnel, quickly coming across the source of the noise. Sure enough, a group of darkspawn had corralled a figure. An elf or a human by the height. They were, for the moment, holding their own, whirling in the centre of the throng, blades flashing. Wherever they hit, the darkspawn staggered back.

Maxwell fired, downing one of the creatures with a lucky shot to the head. The hit alerted the others and his second arrow merely glanced off a creature's shoulder. A few peeled away from the horde, lumbering their way in a deceptively slow gait.

Blackwall slammed into them, downing the first one his sword hit. Beside him, Varric darted by, felling a darkspawn with one blow before cutting another with a swipe of his crossbow's blade before racing out of reach.

Lightning flashed past him, striking the closest of the darkspawn. It stumbled. Maxwell nocked another arrow and fired, finishing the creature. Another one took its place, falling to Varric's well-timed shot. And yet a third rushed forward.

They fought on, Varric on one side, Dorian at his back and Blackwall lost in the thick of it. _Too many_. It didn't matter where he shot or what damage he did, it always seemed there was plenty more to take their place.

Closer the creatures pressed. _Too close_. He could make out features now. His arrows weren't having much effect, wounding rather than killing. But they seemed to be thinning out. _Hold on_. _We have to hold on_.

A wounded darkspawn clambered to its feet and advanced, its monstrous weapon raised.

Maxwell backed up. It was too close for him to kill and the tunnel ceiling was too low for any other evasive manoeuvre. Still, he fired. The arrow lodged itself into the creature's armour. He sought for his throwing daggers and found the scabbards empty, spent somewhere amongst the frantic haze. "Dorian!" he screamed, his voice wavering.

Fire roared to life before the plea had finished passing his lips. The flames blazed in a line ahead of him until it spanned the tunnel's width. They were cut off with Blackwall and the other figure on one side of the fire and him, along with his other two companions, on the other.

The advancing darkspawn staggered through the flames. A burning terror roaring in anger and pain, it raced towards him, its sword still lifted for the kill.

Maxwell hastened to take aim. He crouched, drawing the string back until the bow creaked in protest. If he could put in enough force to push the creature back into the fire—

A bolt shot past—close enough for Maxwell to feel the breeze of its passage—and crunched into the creature's chest. The darkspawn stumbled and collapsed.

Maxwell lowered his bow, immensely thankful that the dwarf had agreed to come.

The wall of fire raged on, burning bright and hot. Smoke clung to the ceiling, darkening the flames. His ears told him of the battle beyond, yet he struggled to see it.

"Did you have to use fire?" Varric yelled. "I can't see a thing through this."

Dorian glared at the dwarf, the firelight amplifying the expression. "Well excuse me for not wanting our illustrious leader to fall."

The flames would eventually dissipate, but until then, helping those on the other side would be impossible without also risking their lives. Maxwell sighed. The mage wasn't going to like snuffing the fire, and he hated ordering Dorian to do so, but they couldn't wait. "Dorian," he said, nocking another arrow. His quiver was almost empty. He'd have to conserve arrows, be sure of his targets, until such a time as he was able to retrieve more. "Put it out."

The mage grunted and the line of fire fizzled.

Blackwall and the other figure seemed to be holding up well. With the rest of them able to see their targets, the remaining darkspawn fell with little effort.

The last of the creatures was dealt with and the figure straightened. Before Maxwell could fully assess their new ally, he found himself with the tip of the man's bloodied sword halting inches from his throat. "Drop your weapons. All of you." The order rolled out in a thick Antivan accent.

Maxwell lifted his arms, letting his bow clatter to the ground. The man was an elf, not one of the Dalish, or at least the tattoo curving along one side of his face didn't look like the _vallaslin_ Maxwell had seen in his travels. _Another Grey Warden_. He must be to wander this far underground and fight darkspawn so easily, but he wasn't wearing their distinctive armour. _Odd_. Was he on his Calling? Was he the full source of the corpses? Even the… strangely dispatched ones?

"Take it easy," Varric said, lowering his beloved crossbow to the ground. "We're—"

" _You_ are not Wardens," the elf snarled, his gaze darting over them. "And yet you travel so very light for such a dangerous path, no?" The sword slid a little bit closer and, over the accumulated blood and bile still coating the blade, Maxwell caught the bitter whiff of poison. At least he wouldn't have to worry about falling to the taint. "So what _is_ your business? Are you some sort of scouting party? You four surely cannot be all there is."

" _You_ were alone," Maxwell countered.

The elf gave a dry chuckle. "For the time being, yes."

Maxwell frowned. Only the five of them were present and they'd come across no one else. Was the man delusional? He reassessed the elf, looking for any sign that the one holding the sword to his throat was sane. Something glowed beneath the man's armour. It looked like it was coming from something tied around his neck. Red, not unlike the lyrium scattered about the land, and brightening.

The elf's gaze darted to Blackwall, no doubt taking in the Warden's uniform. "I see you've a Grey Warden in tow. And I could presume you've all been recruited and are hunting for darkspawn blood, but you needn't have come so far for that. So let's be civilised about this and answer my question, yes?"

Maxwell considered his options. The man seemed amenable towards listening to reason. Was he dangerous? His gaze slid to the darkspawn.  _Yes_. So a more fitting question would be: Was he a danger to  _them_? "Well, you _are_ the one with the sword to my neck." He cleared his throat and continued. "Simply put. We are of the Inquisition and are searching these tunnels on the Inquisitor's orders." Technically true. No need to tell the man that he _was_ the Inquisitor.

By the way the man's lip twitched, his reply wasn't good enough. "And just what is it that your… Inquisition is searching for?"

"I—" He swallowed, his heart pounding. "I can't answer that. We've no idea who _you_ are."

The man smirked. "Oh? It's an introduction you want, is it?" He might hold a sword to Maxwell's neck, but the elf had to know he wouldn't live long if he actually dared to use the blade. "Very well, my name is Zevran and, since we are being so very secretive, that is all you get from me until _I_ get more from you."

"Zevran?" Varric murmured. "I _thought_ you looked familiar. You're the assassin the Crows were after back in Kirkwall."

The elf's eyes narrowed at the mention of the Antivan guild. The sword did not waver.

"You were there, what… four years ago? Just before the Chantry exploded? The Champion helped you evade a few of your… former comrades."

Recognition flashed across the tattooed face. The sword was sheathed. "I thought your weapon looked familiar. You work for the Inquisition now?" The glow peeking out from the man's armour was getting brighter, that hopefully ruled out red lyrium.

Varric opened his mouth.

Maxwell interjected before the dwarf could speak. "What is th—" Movement from behind the man drew Maxwell's eye and all thoughts of the red glow vanished. A spider sat on the edge of the tunnel shadows. Giant. The low, sleek shape suggesting it was one of the poisonous varieties. He went for his bow. One clean shot and—

"No!" Zevran barrelled into him, knocking the bow from Maxwell's grasp as he loosed the arrow.

His shot veered, missing his target and striking the stone next to the creature. The spider flattened. It shrieked, its front legs waving.

The ground shook. Maxwell was thrown off his feet. He tumbled across the tunnel floor, slamming into the fully armoured form of Blackwall before colliding with another, less heavily armoured, body. He regained his bearing in time to spy the assassin springing to his feet.

Zevran stood before the spider, his hands stretched towards it as if it were an angered pet. " _Amor_ stop! You'll bring the ceiling down on us all!"

All at once, the shaking vanished.

Maxwell stood, bracing himself against the tunnel wall lest another tremor should happen. Certain of the stillness, he whirled on the elf, prepared to discover the reason behind his peculiar outburst in the regards to the giant arachnid.

Only there was no longer a spider.

A man stood in the creature's place, the point of his staff aimed at them. Zevran had planted himself between their group and the mage, one hand on the other end of the weapon. Although Maxwell couldn't make out the elf's words, he was quite clearly trying to talk the man into lowering the staff.

"Do you think this guy's responsible for those weird remains we found?" Varric asked.

"If he is," Blackwall replied. "We'd better hope he can be reasoned with."

Maxwell reflexively eyed the corpses. A number of them were slowly dissolving. His gaze slid back to the mage. There, almost impossible to spot in the gloom, was a dusty swirl skimming over the stone around the man's feet. "Dorian," he dared to whisper over his shoulder, "What sort of spell is that?"

"I don't—" He stepped closer and frowned. "It feels almost… familiar." He grew more guarded. It was subtle, like the slight narrowing of his eyes and the way his fingers tightened on the staff, adjusting their grip in preparation to blast those in their way. "Be alert," he whispered.

Maxwell caught the buzz of a not-quite-formed barrier charging the air around them, the energy humming against his skin. "You really think he's _that_ dangerous?"

"He's managed to get this far into the Deep Roads, hasn't he?" Varric replied. The dwarf had already retrieved his own weapon and now handed Maxwell his previously discarded bow.

 _He has_. And likely battling darkspawn all the way. Maxwell turned his attention back to the pair. Whatever the assassin said, he'd managed to convince the mage into holstering his weapon. Such a sight wasn't comforting. Mages were never unarmed. He'd learnt that lesson years ago, when his sister's magic manifested. Back then, it had resulted in his life being spared from a mercenary's blade.

The mage had turned to Zevran, seemingly examining the man. A prudent move, given that the elf was covered in darkspawn blood. Maxwell made a mental note to be more vigilant of any cuts gained in battle whilst they were down here.

Finally, Zevran batted the mage's hands away. "Stop your fussing, _amor_!" The words rang throughout the tunnel. "I'm fine."

The mage said something, clearly not prepared to take the elf at his word. Whatever reply he got seemed to convince him further and Zevran stepped aside.

Now the elf didn't block most of the man, Maxwell was able to assess his potential foe. Human, likely middle aged. Black hair surrounded a somewhat handsome face. He wore green robes rather than the armour of a Grey Warden, but by the way his companion had spoken of the order, he was either one of them or very knowledgeable about them. Both options would be of use.

Unless the man proved difficult.

The mage stepped closer, absently playing with a ring on his right hand. The torchlight glittered upon an earring hiding amongst his unkempt hair. "Zev tells me you're with the Inquisition. On a mission."

Maxwell tugged at his armour, willing the fabric and leather that little bit straighter. He could feel the man's gaze, his very much intense and dark gaze, upon the mark. Curious, just as Dorian and Vivienne had been upon their first meeting. "That's right."

"The Inquisition…" The man smiled. It was not a nice smile, despite the pleasing features. "And seeing you've the green glow in your hand—the same kind that's now glowing in the sky—I suppose that makes you the Inquisitor everyone seems to be talking about these days."

"I am," Maxwell admitted. Hard to convince people otherwise when he—as Sera so eloquently put it—glowed. "Your—" His voice cracked. He cleared his throat, his cheeks a little warmer than they should've been. Turning his gaze to the elf helped. "Your associate has already informed us of his identity. My name is Maxwell Trevelyan. Who, exactly, are _you_?"

The man glanced at Zevran and shrugged. "A simple enough question, I suppose. I am Warden Commander Daylen Amell."

Maxwell frowned. He'd heard that name before, had seen it recently. _At Redcliffe_. Yes, carved on the statue in the square. A tribute to… _It can't be_. Maxwell took another look at the mage. He seemed old enough. "The Hero of Ferelden? _You're_ the Hero of Ferelden." _This_ was the man who'd slain the last Archdemon.

Daylen flinched at the address. "Yes," he said, sighing. Never had Maxwell heard such an admittance carry so much weariness. "That is indeed who I am. So… what terrible thing are you looking to kill? And what is it guarding?"

He blinked, taken aback by the sudden switch. "What makes you think we—?"

The mage chuckled. The sound wasn't as enjoyable to his ears as Dorian's laughter, but rich nevertheless. Daylen's mouth twisted into a smirk, one brow lifting along with Maxwell's pulse. "This _is_ the Deep Roads. It's practically a requirement to be hunting something deadly this far down." He tilted his head as if listening to an invisible person. "I _do_ sense some Broodmothers. There's always bloody Broodmothers, you can barely walk down here without tripping over—" He cut himself off, giving an almost secretive smile. "Except… you're not after something as _mundane_ as darkspawn, are you?" There was a cocky quirk to his lips. He was so very sure of himself and whatever conclusion he'd reached as to their quest.

Maxwell rubbed at the back of his neck and sighed. "It's… complicated." And, if the piles of corpses they'd past were any judge of what lay ahead, their path was bound to get even more convoluted. They'd been lucky thus far in having these two men ahead of them, they'd lose that protection if they pressed on.

He glanced back at his companions and frowned. Could he trust Daylen with the truth? _Maybe a little_. He _was_ the Hero of Ferelden, after all. But he was also a mage and _they_ were the Grey Wardens who were vulnerable. "Let's just say our business is further down."

The man's brow rose a little higher. "And how will you get there?" He pointed back over his shoulder at the tunnel littered with darkspawn bones. "That way is blocked. And the way you came leads only to the surface."

Those were his options? _Well… shit_. He'd been hoping they wouldn't have to find another entrance. But these two men were going down, weren't they? There had to know of a suitable path. "If you help us, I'll explain along the way." If anything, they'd have another powerful mage on their side as well as another Warden.

"Well then, we'll need to go _this_ way." Daylen indicated a seemingly innocuous shadow in the tunnel's wall. He waved his hand and several green spots of light appeared, twirling about the air as they floated ahead. Without waiting for a response, the man started towards it, his companion following close on his heels.

"We're going to trust him?" Dorian asked as Maxwell began foraging amongst the darkspawn corpses for arrows. "Just like that?"

"Why wouldn't we?" Blackwall replied. "He ended the last Blight. I doubt he's in league with Corypheus."

"That was ten years ago," Varric said. "Who's to say who is on what side now?"

Maxwell frowned. The man _was_ clearly on a mission. Finding out what side the Hero of Ferelden fought for would be worth looking into. "We'd fare better in greater numbers." And Maxwell was certain this mage was responsible for the stripped corpses. "So, until he proves otherwise, he's our best bet on getting to our goal alive."

"This is foolishness," Dorian muttered, his stride matching Maxwell's as they stepped into the tunnel. "Hero or no, he's just another man."

 _A rather lucky man_. Although it couldn't be all luck, someone like the Hero of Ferelden couldn't survive for as long as he had done on chance alone. Maxwell bumped his shoulder against Dorian's. "That's why I've got you to protect me."

A small, grim smile tweaked the man's lips. "Whilst I usually adore your over-inflated impression of my admittedly extraordinary abilities, if we run into a horde of these creatures, the chances of making it out alive aren't promising."

He was well aware of what dangers they faced. Darkspawn, spiders, cave-ins… any one of them could be their death. "As long as there's a chance, we'll make it."

Dorian shook his head, a low chuckle bouncing his shoulders. "Ever the optimist. Very well, _amatus_. Lead the way."


End file.
